Red Sky At Night
by Hermitt
Summary: Dahlia Potter was loving life at twenty-seven. Ten years on from the end of the war and she felt invincible. But by her luck she found herself back in 1995. Only it wasn't so straightforward. Here, in this repeat mockery, little her was a he. At least no one ever said she wasn't adaptable. {fem Harry & boy Harry—eventual Dahlia/Sirius} Family/Romance/Adventure/Humour
1. Chapter 1

This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by J.K. Rowling or any of her publishers or licensees. It does not imply or claim any rights to her characters or creations.

Harry Potter is a registered trademark of Warner Bros.

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Dahlia stumbled out of her odd-feeling Apparition and shook her head to clear it of the foggy feeling. Taking a steadying breath, she lifted her head high and took a step forward only to jerkily halt and stare bemusedly at where she'd turned up. Certainly not her date, or a place worth a thought for a date. In fact, the identical houses and neatly trimmed hedges all down the street caused a sudden burst of laughter to erupt from her throat.

"Bloody hell, I was _not_ thinking of Privet Drive," she muttered to herself. Glancing around again and shaking her head in a bewildered sort of way, she was at the very least grateful that she hadn't splinched herself if she was so far from her intended destination.

Unable to refuse her sudden spike of curiosity, however, Dahlia began a steady pace a short way down the street. It looked almost identical to how she remembered it, from the height of the hedgerows to the dry, brown lawns victim to the summer heat. And then, her eyes drawn to it, Dahlia shook her head in a strangely fond way at the bright green lawn of number four Privet Drive. Water restrictions or not, Petunia had always insisted on a flourishing lawn.

Dahlia felt a smile at the corner of her mouth as she halted on the street in front of her old house. Though the memories she had of the place and the people were not incredibly fond ones, there was still a sentimentality associated with the ordinary house. Strangely enough, the car parked in the drive was identical to the one Vernon had owned all those years ago, the curtains in the window the same lace, as well as the flowerbeds full of agapanthus and pansies adding further colour to the emerald green grass. Dahlia wondered if the Dursleys had moved back into the house after the war ended and found herself tilting her head as she considered the front door. Should she knock? Should she say hello? In her occasional correspondence with Dudley she had never found the desire to ask about her aunt and uncle.

"Nah," she breathed, smirking and shaking her head. Even if Vernon and Petunia Dursley were in that house and sitting down for lunch, Dahlia felt absolutely no urge to knock on their door and reintroduce herself. Perhaps if she was feeling slightly more mischievous she might have, just to see their faces as the freak darkened their doorstep once again, but Dahlia had plans for her own lunch and was eager to move on.

Dahlia glanced around the street, looking for any prying eyes, before she quickly spun around on her heel and disappeared from Privet Drive with a quiet _crack_.

She wasn't there to witness a young boy suddenly jerk up from where he'd been lying under the living room window on the grass, his black hair messy and his emerald eyes searching the street desperately for the source of the familiar sound.

From underneath an invisibility cloak nearby, a small, smelly man jerked awake. Not noticing anything immediately suspicious, he shook his head and rearranged himself where he sat.

The boy despondently settled back onto the grass with a huff and the watcher was soon snoring again.

Privet Drive was still once more.

But not for long.

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What is this? Even I don't know. Well, I do, but I don't know what I'm doing posting it. In all fairness this is a bit of fun. I was settling down to write the next chapter of _The Beauty In Me_ (another fem!Harry because reasons) but this little fantasy has held me captive and only released me now that its ice has been broken. Plans for this? There are a few. Nothing concrete; just in my head. Will the characters we love live in this one? Hell yes, as they should. Love to hear from you!


	2. Chapter 2

Dahlia huffed irritably and tapped her heeled foot impatiently on the ground. The air was hot but the sky was clear and there was a breeze, which only appeased her slightly. Her tea was now cold and she drummed dark red nails against the porcelain rim of her cup crossly. Forty minutes she'd been waiting, most patiently, for her date to appear. If he was a wizard she would have been able to contact him easily but, unfortunately, he was a Muggle and she didn't possess a mobile phone. Dahlia growled quietly to herself and once again glanced around the street. He'd said to meet by the crossroads and she'd stood there patiently for almost fifteen minutes before relenting and ordering a cup of tea from a nearby café. And there she'd sat, al fresco in a better effort to spot the man, only to be left disappointed and frustrated at his lack of appearance.

"Fine," she decided, and stood to leave.

It did surprise her, honestly, that he hadn't shown. He'd been persistent enough in the few times they'd met, asking for a date each time, and she'd found it endearing the way he'd bounced back each time she said no. She was such an entrenched member of wizarding society that it admittedly seemed a bit of an inconvenience dating a Muggle, but his determination had caused a romanticism to bloom in her at the reminder of how her father had persistently pursued her mother. So she'd said yes, and he'd stood her up. Brilliant.

As she passed by the other Muggles walking along the street her heart grew soft and she sighed. Something could have happened to him or someone he knew, or perhaps he'd mixed up the time. Dahlia supposed she'd just have to wait until she saw him again to get her answers. She could be patient.

Finally, she neared an alleyway that sufficiently hid her from the Muggles. She turned down it, ignoring the way the slight slosh attacked her heels and reminded herself to thank Ginny for that nifty bit of spellwork that prevented it from sticking and ruining her shoes. Dahlia twisted slightly and reached into the small purse bouncing against her hip, pulling out her wand. Reaching a satisfactory point in the alleyway, Dahlia turned to check for any potential onlookers. Seeing none, she spun on her heel and Apparated to London.

"So much for getting dressed up," she muttered to her reflection as she passed a window, her mouth twitching into a sad frown. Sighing again, Dahlia continued her short walk down the street until she reached the familiar sight of Number Twelve.

All was as it should be as she walked up to the door and turned the knob, but as she entered she paused, the door still half-open, and stared.

"What the hell?"

Dahlia had to consciously close her mouth and slowly shut the door. She gripped her purse tightly in one hand and raised the other to run over the wall in disbelief. While still clearly grand in design, she hadn't seen Grimmauld Place this dark and dismal in years. The long hallway was gloomy, the wallpaper was peeling horribly, and the overall feeling was cold. Dahlia glanced down and a noise of comical incredulity escaped her throat. Even that damn troll-leg umbrella stand was there. Dread began to pool at the base of Dahlia's spine. This couldn't have been a prank because no one she knew that could get into the house would do it.

Cautiously, still standing in front of the door, Dahlia took out her wand and cast _Homenum Revelio_. Immediately it became apparent that the house was by no stretch of the word empty. Dahlia took a breath and then a steady step forward. A sudden thump from the staircase had her immediately pointing her wand upwards, ready to face what came next. The following events happened so quickly even Dahlia Potter – Girl-Who-Lived, Chosen One, Saviour, Seeker of the Century and Head Auror – was left floundering.

The curtains of old Mrs Black's portrait flew open to let loose her screaming at the sound of dashing feet on the stairs. Down those stairs flew a blur of long red hair that raced to reach the kitchen, twin pops announced the arrival of two identical young men blocking the bottom of the staircase, frustrated yelling could be heard from upstairs, and then most shocking of all came the retaliatory screaming of her long dead godfather as he raced out of the kitchen to battle his mother's portrait.

Dahlia felt the blood drain from her face.

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Chapter 2, done and dusted. Thoughts? Thanks for the support so far, readers! Much appreciated. Quick note to those reading _The Beauty In Me_ : the next chapter for that will be out soon, I promise, it just got put on hold because I was sick all week. Much love until next time! Review?


	3. Chapter 3

Let it not be said that Dahlia froze up in the face of the unknown. On the contrary, she was most famous for having stood up to it and later made it her profession. If walking to her death with the intention to sacrifice herself for everyone she loved meant anything at all, it was that she was willing to stand strong and hold her courage close against the worst odds.

So when the ruckus finally died down and the current occupants of Grimmauld Place all turned to look at her, Dahlia could be excused for the shocked cursing that flew from her mouth.

"Er, you new or something?"

Sirius. Dead Sirius Black. Not looking so dead anymore. Not dead Sirius Black talking to her.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Dahlia breathed, wand raised and pointed surely at familiar faces.

Imposter-Sirius sighed and ran a tired hand down his face.

"Obviously someone forgot to tell you. Hello, Sirius Black, _falsely_ convicted mass murderer. It's all about the 'falsely', love."

Dahlia stared.

"You're here for the Order, right?" he tried again, looking weary and slightly more cautious than before as she refused to lower her wand.

"I'm here because I live here," Dahlia corrected, eyes glancing quickly at the curious and quiet redheaded Ginny and twins. Dahlia's eyes lingered on the twins for a brief moment more before her gaze returned to Sirius.

"Right," he said slowly, glancing at the young gingers. "Go get your mum, yeah? And, er, tell her to get Dumbledore too."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Dahlia demanded, watching as the twins popped out of the stairwell, leaving Ginny behind. "Because it is in very poor taste, I can tell you."

"If this was my joke, you'd be laughing. Now who're you?" Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, fed up with the confusion. Ginny hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and craned her neck further around, squinting at Dahlia curiously.

"This is ridiculous," Dahlia muttered to herself, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Denial certainly went a long way when dealing with shock. " _Finite Incantatum_ ," she cast confidently. Then she hesitated. Sirius's eyebrows cocked up, unimpressed, and Ginny tilted her head to the side.

"You _are_ here for the Order, right?" the young girl asked slowly, stepping off the staircase and into the hall.

"Well she wouldn't have gotten an invite otherwise," Sirius scoffed.

"This is a bloody nightmare." Dahlia was certainly ready to sit down with a glass of firewhiskey and forget this day ever happened. "Look, I'm tired and irritated, two things that really don't go well together with me. So ha-ha, very funny, but it's time this prank finished up, okay?"

Ginny frowned, confused. Sirius, for his part, screwed his face up into the almost painful-looking expression one would give to a potentially contagious mental patient.

Both were saved from answering by the arrival of Molly Weasley shuffling down the stairs. Young Molly Weasley. Or younger, really.

"I'm so sorry for the lack of welcome, dear, we didn't know you'd be coming," she smiled, bustling around her daughter and past Sirius. She hesitated at the drawn wand, however, and looked back up at Dahlia. Then hesitated again. "My, have we—have we met, dear?" she questioned, unsure. "So sorry for all the fuss. If Albus had only told us you were coming, we could have had something ready for you. I'm Molly Weasley, and you are?"

This was too much.

"This is too much. Seriously," Dahlia muttered, disbelieving eyes jumping from an alive Sirius to the younger Weasley females. "Kreacher!" she summoned, not lowering her wand. With a sharp _crack_ her house-elf appeared beside her. Dahlia kept her gaze locked on the people before her, taking note of their shocked and confused expressions before she addressed the elf. "Kreacher, can you dispel this illusion or whatever the hell it is? I've had enough."

There was silence from the usually eager to serve elf. Yet another thing that made Dahlia feel unsettled. She glanced down and her wand arm slowly lowered in shock.

"Kreacher … Kreacher doesn't _understand_ … M- _Mistress_ ," the old elf croaked through clearly clenched teeth. His arrival didn't reassure Dahlia in the least. That cantankerous old elf looked as bad as he had before she'd given him Regulus's locket. And that was what sent it home for Dahlia Potter. Never, not under pain of death, would Kreacher ever remove Regulus's locket from his chest.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin."

Dahlia was _not_ prepared to deal with this shit.

* * *

And here – we – go. Joker style. Because really, shit's about to get real. Bad Boys style for that. And I'll stop now. But siriusly (no, I couldn't resist), both my fem!Harry stories updated in one night? Awesome. Review!


	4. Chapter 4

Dahlia was sitting down at the kitchen table, legs crossed tightly, eyes wary and mouth pinched as she furiously tapped her forefinger on the wooden surface, her agitation clear. Down the far end of the table Sirius stood by the door, arms crossed and a deeply suspicious and frustrated scowl on his face. Mrs Weasley, for her part, was bustling around the kitchen and preparing a cup of tea for the new arrival.

No one spoke, the younger Weasley children and the old elf having been booted out of the space, and the air remained thick with tension.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs Weasley smiled, placing the cup down in front of her. She turned around then and retrieved a plate of cookies. Damn it, they smelled good, but Dahlia wasn't entirely prepared to trust anything yet, even Molly Weasley's cooking.

"Thanks, Molly," she muttered as politely as she could, still sitting stiffly. Her eyes twitched at the glare she was receiving from her alive again godfather, so she pointedly looked away.

"So … what is your name, dear?" the Weasley matriarch asked politely, taking her own cup of tea and sitting down at the table beside her.

"Or, how about she tells us how she got that bloody elf to call her 'mistress'?" Sirius snapped, straightening up from where he leant against the wall. "You don't have a clue what's going on, do you? How'd you get in, then?" he demanded of Dahlia.

"Sirius!" Mrs Weasley immediately admonished, combating his glare with one of her own.

"What!" he cried, throwing his arms out and jabbing his finger in Dahlia's direction. "I don't know how she got in, but she doesn't have a bloody clue about anything, which begs the question who the hell she is!"

"Albus –"

"Dumbledore would have told us if he was sending someone new and you know it, Molly. She might be working for Voldemort and you just invited her in for tea!"

"I'm _not_ working for Voldemort," Dahlia snapped, looking back to him. "Just have a little faith until Dumbledore gets here, okay?" And wasn't that a funny thing to say. If this really was a case of accidental time-travel, Dumbledore was still alive too. Sitting down at the table allowed Dahlia's mind to finally begin processing what had happened, and she didn't like it one bit. What kind of torture was this, going back in time to see the people she'd loved and lost, knowing that it couldn't last, that she had to go back? The temptation to stay sparked in her suddenly tight chest and Dahlia glanced down at the table and the cup held tightly in her hands, tunnelling her vision in an effort to ignore the thought.

"This is my house," Sirius began, marching forward before he stopped suddenly as the kitchen door opened and in stepped Albus Dumbledore.

"Good day, Sirius, Molly. I understand we have a surprise visitor," he said lightly. Dahlia glanced up and stared. And then winced. His eyes, those eyes that had held so much wisdom and warmth, that had twinkled at her so many times before, were withdrawn and suspicious as they looked at her now. That hurt more than Dahlia thought it would.

"So you didn't give her the location?" Sirius jumped in, spinning to face the Secret Keeper of his house.

"I did not," Dumbledore admitted, stepping through and smiling when Mrs Weasley stood to prepare him his own cup of tea. "Which begs the question of how you got in and who you are, Miss," he said, taking a seat at the table and locking his eyes on hers.

"If you didn't tell her the location, then how could she have gotten in?" Mrs Weasley hesitated as she placed his cup down in front of him, her eyes now showing apprehensive caution as they flickered to Dahlia briefly before returning to the old man.

"I told you, Voldemort must have –"

"Oh, Voldemort hasn't bloody sent me!" Dahlia burst out, scowling at Sirius. Her temper tended to get the better of her in stressful situations, always had, and Sirius was not doing himself any favours.

"Then," Dumbledore spoke pointedly loud as Sirius opened his mouth to retort, successfully stopping him from retaliating, "who are you, and how did you find this house?"

Dahlia looked back to the silver-haired professor and was quiet. She genuinely didn't know what to do. She knew what she _wanted_ to do, of course, which was tell Dumbledore exactly who she was and how to stop the war before it properly started. But she couldn't. The first rule of time-travel, no matter how it may have happened, was clear. She'd already walked right over it when she entered this house, but that didn't mean she had to spit on it as well.

Her eyes danced over Dumbledore's face, from his crooked nose to the half-moon spectacles perched on it, behind which were his familiar blue eyes. She found herself wondering if he ever changed. Though she'd seen a younger version of him for herself, the thought of Dumbledore any younger was so absurd it was almost impossible to her. Then she glanced over at Sirius. Ignoring his hostile expression, he was still just as she remembered him, from his black hair to his aristocratic features, the lingering evidence of Azkaban making Dahlia hurt for him. Absently she wondered if he ever regretted what Azkaban had done to his once devastatingly handsome looks. But what stuck out most to her about both these men who had meant so much to her was that they were dead.

Dahlia turned back to Dumbledore and sighed more heavily than she had in years.

"The rules say I'm not supposed to tell you," she began, fiddling with her teacup, "but I honestly don't know anyone else who can even begin to help me get back," Dahlia admitted reluctantly. The longer she lingered here the greater the temptation to warn them would be.

"Get you back where, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, his posture relaxing slightly as he came to his own conclusions regarding the stranger.

"To the future, I guess," she muttered, glancing up to see his reaction.

To his credit, Dumbledore's eyes only widened marginally. They both ignored Mrs Weasley's sudden question and Sirius's disbelieving expletives, though, and kept their gazes locked on each other. Dumbledore studied her face more closely now, his eyes, while still not warm, exuding a sharp curiosity.

"And your name?"

Dahlia bit her lip and held her breath as she finally made her decision.

"Dahlia Potter."

She wasn't expecting the question that came next, though.

"Are you Harry's daughter?"

She opened her mouth, clueless, and then closed it, frowning. "Who the hell is Harry?" she blurted, momentarily shocked out of her moment of solemnity.

Dumbledore frowned but was interrupted from replying by Sirius again.

"What do you mean, who's Harry?" he mocked. "He's only the bloody Boy-Who-Lived."

Dahlia made a conscious effort to close her mouth.

"But … I'm the Girl-Who-Lived."

Mrs Weasley looked confused, Sirius was still agitated, and Dumbledore became quiet.

"Oh, I should not have gotten out of bed this morning," Dahlia growled, reaching up to grip her hair and groan angrily.

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Hope you enjoyed this! The chapters will gradually get longer. Having them short and light-hearted is actually a great way to get them written quickly, but as we go along that ... probably won't last. The short length, at least. Review!


	5. Chapter 5

"This is ridiculous," Sirius scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and turning his nose up at the frustrated younger witch.

"Oh, stuff it," Dahlia snapped, whipping her head up and narrowing emerald eyes. "I don't need any attitude from you on top of everything else!"

"You have the scar," Dumbledore stated, his eyes locked on her forehead where she had run her hands through her hair, mussing the front.

Dahlia turned her gaze back to the headmaster and sighed, her whole body slumping with sudden exhaustion. She stared helplessly at the elderly man as Mrs Weasley slowly sat down at the table. It seemed the revelations had taken the energy out of her too.

"I have the scar because my name is Dahlia Euphemia Potter and I'm the Girl-Who-Lived," Dahlia began, taking a breath and straightening her spine. Never had she rolled over when faced with danger, hardship or the unexpected, and she had no intentions of starting now. "When I was fifteen months old, my family was targeted by Voldemort because of a prophecy –" and suddenly all three Order members straightened like they'd been shocked. Sirius even sat down at the table and kept his mouth shut, a grim expression falling over his face.

"You know about the prophecy," Dumbledore said, voice quiet and hands folded together in front of him.

"I know about the prophecy because it was me who it concerned," Dahlia said, shifting in her seat so she was directly facing him. "I can tell you exactly what it says if that'll help you believe me, but to be honest I just really want to get home."

Mrs Weasley and Sirius, people she thought she knew but could very well be strangers too, shared glances as Dumbledore sat back in his seat and reached up to tap his chin, eyes assessing the sincere expression on the woman's face.

"How _did_ you get here, Miss Potter?" he asked, eyes no longer hard. A polite smile curved his mouth.

"Ah…" Dahlia scratched the back of her head and glanced away, brow furrowing in confusion and embarrassment. "To be honest, I have no idea. I assume it happened when I Apparated because I didn't turn up where I was meant to, I turned up on Privet Drive…" her voice trailed off and suddenly she gulped. There was a Boy-Who-Lived here and she very well could have run into him and not known it, if she'd decided to knock on the Dursley's door like she'd entertained.

"Nothing was unusual in your routine before you appeared here?" Dumbledore probed.

"Well, I had a date, if that counts," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and chuckling, a half-smile on her face.

Dumbledore smiled with amusement of his own, eyes beginning to twinkle for the first time she'd seen in ten years. It made her pause and smile a suddenly silly smile at the old man, just basking in his warmth once again. She had missed it.

"Oh, dear, I'm sure it wasn't so unusual," Mrs Weasley spoke up, leaning forward and patting Dahlia's hand, smiling warmly at her.

Reaching up and tugging on an ear, Dahlia smiled back at her and replied awkwardly. "Well, work takes up most of my time, y'know…"

"Dahlia," Dumbledore called her attention again, his use of her first name like coming home, "to undo whatever this is and send you home, I'm afraid first I must know what happened to call you here. That you arrived in Privet Drive so close to your counterpart is only one clue and not enough to paint a clear picture."

"I … I really don't know, though," she frowned, hands slowly clenching into fists.

"Okay, saying we believe her," Sirius spoke up suddenly from the far end of the table, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "what happens if she can't get back?"

"But I will get back," Dahlia countered, spinning her head to look at Dumbledore. She didn't like not being able to read his expression. "Sir," she implored, leaning forward over the table slightly. "I will, won't I?"

"Of course you will, dear," Mrs Weasley reassured immediately, the motherly witch picking one of Dahlia's fists up and slipping her hand inside, giving it a reassuring squeeze and patting it with the other. "We'll make sure of it, won't we, Albus?"

"My dear Molly, this is so far out of my realm of knowledge I don't quite know where to begin," he said, apology sobering his expression. "Dahlia," he told her gravely, bowing his head, "make no mistake – I _will_ , of course, do my very best to help you get home, but," and now Dahlia knew there was something seriously wrong if Dumbledore himself was looking unsure, apologetic, and sad, "I don't know if it will be at all possible. This may turn out to have been a one-way trip."

The wind blown out of her sails, Dahlia slumped back in her seat and stared blankly at the tabletop. She felt Mrs Weasley squeezing her hand another time but paid it no mind, thinking instead about never going home. What would her family be thinking? To never see her godson, her friends, or her Weasleys ever again left a jagged hollow in her chest. Glancing at Mrs Weasley again, Dahlia winced at the familiarity of her face. Turning to look at Sirius and then Dumbledore, she was swamped with how much she missed them. She wondered what else was different in this world. She wondered … if she could change any of it.

Dahlia felt her empty chest swell with dreams given sudden life. Dumbledore said he'd look for a way to help her. Who said she couldn't help him in return?

"Professor," she said, squaring her shoulders and steeling her eyes, "I hope you don't mind spoilers, because I'm about to save your life."

While there was blatant intrigue on his face, to his credit Dumbledore hesitated.

"Bad things are said to have happened to wizards who meddle with time, Miss Potter."

Dahlia smirked.

"Good thing I'm a witch then, isn't it? Besides, I think that rulebook went out the window as soon as I wound up where a little me with boy parts was running around saving the day."

"What are you going to do, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked, hope on her face and in her voice.

Squeezing the matriarch's hand back for the first time, Dahlia grinned around at the three.

"I'm going to stop this war before it starts. Assuming this timeline is anything like my own, Voldemort's only just come back properly, right?" she asked, glancing at the three of them, eyes lingering on the former inmate of Azkaban Prison, noticing how very alive he was.

"That would be correct," the old headmaster confirmed. His eyes were twinkling madly at her, so madly she thought she might go blind. In retaliation, Dahlia returned the glittering look and refused to look back.

"Then hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen, because this is going to be one wild ride."

* * *

What? Who updated? Did you update? I updated! Account details found and sticky-noted to my wall (and highlighted with big, bold arrows and stars), I give you the next chapter. Let's get this ball rolling, shall we?

To all those reviewers, you're beautiful. I haven't replied to you personally this time around because, well, I feel kinda awkward about it. It's been a while (do you still remember me?) and Dahlia's probably fled your mind. Fingers crossed this is a memorable comeback. Please be 100% sure that every last one of you made me more than delighted to keep this story going (and my damn search for passwords of long ago. 2009, actually. This password hasn't changed since then but this computer has, and - well - details get lost).

I hope all you followers and favouriters found pleasure in this update too. A nice little surprise for your inbox's, eh? Hopefully it wasn't such a shock it caused any heart attacks! (:


	6. Chapter 6

The four present Weasley children and Hermione Granger sat still at the top of the stairs. None made eye contact, nor did they twitch at all when Crookshanks slithered past them and flicked his tail in their faces. The five teenagers were struck dumb and frozen by the information they'd been privy to through the morally questionable use of the twins' Extendable Ears.

"Bloody hell," finally breathed Ron, wide blue eyes staring blankly ahead. His comment startled the others into blinking as they slowly began to turn to each other.

"Do you think this is for real?" Ginny asked, hands clenched.

"But how could this be possible?" Hermione interjected, brow furrowed as she scanned through her memory for any information that might be relevant. "Time travel is only possible through the use of a time-turner and that only goes back hours, not _years_. On top of that, if she's telling the truth then that woman's from a completely different dimension! And that's—that's been theorized, but it's just not possible! How can it be possible?"

Ron shook his head. "Well she's here now. What do you think she meant about the war?"

Turning to her brother, Ginny asked, "Do you think she's going to change anything?"

Hermione shook her head again. "From a different dimension or not, meddling with the timeline is strictly forbidden. The Ministry would never allow it!"

"Who says the Ministry would have to know?" scoffed Ron, rolling his eyes.

"While this conversation is fascinating," began George as he finished rolling up the Extendable Ear, glancing at his twin.

"What the hell is Harry going to do when he finds out he's a girl?" Fred smirked, sniggering into his hand.

"That's ... going to be interesting," Ron agreed, nodding his head.

"But what's she going to _do_?" Ginny shook her head, slapping Ron's chest with the back of her hand.

Hermione looked conflicted as she nodded in agreement. "This could be very bad," she fretted.

"Or very good," countered George, nudging her with his elbow.

"Yeah," agreed Fred, "I mean, did you see her?" he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Ron looked immediately repulsed and began muttering about Harry while Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes at the elder wizards. Any retort was interrupted by the kitchen door slamming open downstairs and the woman herself walking out.

"You can't just go off on your own!" Sirius barked, following her out and gesturing wildly. He groaned loudly when his mother's portrait began wailing in response to his volume.

"Sure I can," Dahlia said, flicking her wand at the portrait and immediately silencing it, much to the shock and joy of the teenagers.

"Dahlia," Dumbledore called, following behind Sirius, "a day more won't cause any harm while we discuss –"

"Funny thing is, Professor," she interrupted, spinning around on her heel and placing her hands firmly on her waist, "if it was me, which as it so happens it _is_ – male or not – I would want to be picked up first and be welcome to my own opinion while we have that discussion, not be picked up later when all those decisions have been made for me. Sir, I have nothing but respect for you, but there were decisions you made for me that I really wish you hadn't. Now, this kid has a chance, and a hell of a lot better one than I did. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pick Harry up and bring him back here, because I'm his blood and the blood wards will work for me."

"Noble as that is, Dahlia, you need a home to –"

"This is my home. And if Kreacher is anything to go by, my claim still stands."

"Well, this is my house –" Sirius stepped forward, feeling the need to make his opinion clear while they bandied about the right to his house without him.

"Sirius," Dahlia said, tilting her head towards him and levelling him with a raised eyebrow, "with me here and this as my home too, Harry can live here permanently and not have to ever go back to the Dursleys. Are you going to stand in the way of that?"

Sirius opened his mouth and paused. He glanced back at the headmaster, caught the eyes of the curious children on the stairs, and turned back to Dahlia with shrewd eyes.

"Guess not," he conceded, shrugging his shoulders and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Dahlia beamed at him, at Dumbledore, at Molly Weasley in the doorway, and at the students on the stairs.

"Right then, I'll be off. See you soon. Blimey, two Potters under one roof. Been too long."

Dahlia blew out of the house and Apparated before anyone could say anything more. With a sigh and a distinctive twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore summoned a patronus and sent it away, then turned to face Mrs Weasley.

"I suppose we should organise the rooms for our guests then, wouldn't you say, Molly?"

It took no time at all for Molly Weasley to scold, coddle and rope the children into helping her like a well-versed veteran, shielding questions with responses telling them to wait for later.

Sirius ran his hand through his hair and glanced at his mother's portrait again. Shaking his head, he turned back to Dumbledore and was taken aback. Sometimes he thought he'd need sunglasses to deal with that man's bloody twinkling.

"So we're just going to let her go off on her own like that, are we?" he asked the old man.

Dumbledore smiled. "Nymphadora is on guard duty now, Sirius. It'll be fine."

Sirius was not reassured by the thought of his accident-prone cousin being the one to deal with this.

He shook his head again and walked into the dining room, and immediately poured himself a drink. While still hesitant and unsure about their new guest, he couldn't help but grin at the thought of Harry coming home. If Dahlia Potter could make that happen then he supposed she wasn't too bad, even if her entire existence was impossible. Still, she was right. It had been far too long since there were two Potters under one roof. Even though she was no replacement, he could see James clearly in Dahlia's reckless spontaneity and sudden determination to help.

Merlin help them if she turned out to have Lily's stubbornness as well.

* * *

Updaaate! Your continued enthusiasm and support is awe-inspiring ladies, gentlemen, and those who identify otherwise! I am but your humble servant (but like BBC!Merlin I'm smart-mouthed and stubborn, so that's fun, right?).


	7. Chapter 7

After having kicked Dung Fletcher in the ribs and sent him on his stinky way, Nymphadora Tonks had settled in for her turn guarding the Boy-Who-Lived. Important as the task was, it had never failed to be a dull, monotonous duty that always left her bum asleep and her eyes itchy by the time she went home. So imagine her surprise when the sudden _crack_ of Apparition was followed shortly by a very familiar patronus telling her to follow the new woman's lead.

"Oi!" Tonks called, pulling the invisibility cloak off her shoulders and marching towards the black-haired stranger. Or she would have, if she'd not immediately tripped over the flapping material and face-planted into the road.

She heard the muffled laughter, she did, but for the sake of Tonks's pride she put her hands under her, sniffed, and stood up like nothing had happened, dusting off the cloak and shoving it into her bag. Looking up at the newcomer, Tonks was taken aback at first by how pretty and _neat_ she looked – there was a burst of incredulity too as she gawped at the high heels and wondered how anyone could walk in those.

"Tonks!"

And then she was wondering who the hell this woman was to grab her in a hug like they'd been friends for years.

"Er, yeah?"

Awkwardly patting the woman's back and watching as she pulled away, Tonks hoped to get some answers as the stranger opened her mouth. This was derailed when both jerked their heads towards a sudden screech and watched as a plain brown owl clutching a letter swooped through a window in Harry's home down the street.

"Oh, bugger!"

Once more Tonks was left watching the woman in clear confusion as she immediately began striding off down the street in pursuit of the owl – walking in the heels like they wouldn't possibly break her ankle if she landed on them wrong. Tonks felt her eye twitch and hurried after her.

Arriving at the door of number four Privet Drive, they could clearly hear the butt-end of a Ministry Howler spouting off about underage magic and – Tonks gaped at the closed door – was that something about _expulsion_?!

"They can't do that!" Tonks burst loudly, hair flaming orange in the ensuing quiet.

Dahlia's face was grim but she raised her fist to knock purposefully on the door anyway. However the point seemed moot as, in the next moment, dashing feet were heard and then Harry Potter opened the door.

"So … weird," Dahlia whispered, eyes widening of their own accord as they met and held those of her counterpart. The boy had gone to speak as the door had opened but let his mouth slowly close and his eyebrows twitch in confusion as he held the identical green-eyed stare.

Tonks glanced between the two and made to speak when a whale of a man followed behind the boy and glared at them suspiciously.

"This more of your lot then, boy?" he snapped, moustache twitching and small eyes narrowing at the eccentric-looking Tonks. Tonks tried not to feel offended by his look. Or his clean hall. What proper Muggle didn't have a mess here or there, anyway?

"Yes, yes we are, Vernon Dursley," Dahlia took lead, stepping into the house and past the observant younger Potter, smiling professionally at the Muggle. Said Muggle went red as she walked in without an invitation and opened his mouth. Dahlia cut him off before he could start. "If you don't mind, we're representatives from the Ministry here to talk to Harry."

"Now see here –!"

"Won't be long. We'll just do this up in his room, won't we Harry? Ah, you must be Petunia and Dudley. I know all about you. If you'll excuse us – official business, you understand."

Dahlia maintained her professional smile the whole time she spoke, looking into the living room at the assembled Dursleys. It was perhaps the easy admittance of her familiarity with them, as well as her magical status, that kept the two quiet. Petunia's eyes widened slightly more than her son's, though, as she made eye contact.

"Shall we, Harry?" Dahlia turned again to the boy and smiled, winking in amusement as she turned her back on Vernon and heard his enraged huff. Harry glanced at his uncle and almost smiled.

"Sure. This way," he said, pointing awkwardly up the stairs and starting the trek up. Dahlia followed easily while Tonks hesitated at the bottom of the steps, glancing into the living room at the family.

"You've got a very clean house," she told them like an admonishment, glancing around before quickly following the other two up to the second floor and into the second bedroom. "Oh, this is more like it!" she nodded, walking into Harry's room, looking around at the mess.

"Don't worry about it," Dahlia smiled as Harry tried to organise his desk, in a slight fluster as he realised the state of his room.

"Er, sure," he muttered, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably before he blurted, "Is this about the Howler? Because I didn't do any magic, I swear!"

"Ah, no," Dahlia said, drifting around the room and pausing at Hedwig's perch. Pain came to her eyes as she gently raised a finger to stroke the snowy white breast. "Hello, old girl," she murmured, smiling tenderly at the creature. Hedwig was still as her large amber eyes studied the woman before, with a soft hoot, the bird nipped her finger affectionately.

Harry relaxed slightly at Hedwig's approval of the stranger and asked, "Then … what's this about?"

"No idea!" Tonks decided to interject her two cents, setting herself down on the unmade bed comfortably, leaning back on her elbows and watching the other witch closely. "So who're you and why does Dumbledore say to let you run this show?"

Harry turned back to the other woman and frowned as she seemed reluctant to pull away from his feathered friend.

"Right," she muttered, turning to face both of them. If Harry was anything like her then being delicate was only going to frustrate him, and if Tonks was anything like she remembered, being upfront was the way to go with her too. "Well, my name's Dahlia Potter. Hello," she added, wiggling her fingers awkwardly and watching Harry's jaw drop and Tonks's eyebrows pop, her hair returning to bubble-gum pink. That, admittedly, stole Harry's attention for a moment before he turned back to her.

"So … we're related, are we?" he asked, leaning back on his desk filled with old _Daily Prophets_ and clenching his hands.

This was the hard part. Dahlia bit her lip and winced slightly as she shook her head before pausing.

"Well, no. Well – yeah, technically. I'm you," she said, looking at the boy seriously. Jumping in before he could do more than look confused, Dahlia continued. "I woke up this morning in my world – or my dimension or whatever – and after a weird Apparition I found myself here, walking into Grimmauld Place with everyone young and alive." Dahlia paused and really wished the last part hadn't come out of her mouth but soldiered on. "Anyway, point is I'm you from a – like – alternate universe, or something. But I'm here now and while I'm here I'm here to help. So pack up your stuff, male-me! I'm taking you to Grimmauld Place!"

Both Harry and Tonks just stared at her like she was crazy.

" _This_ is what Dumbledore had planned?" Tonks claimed disbelievingly. Dahlia frowned.

"Well, no, I planned this. Sort of. I mean, I know if you're anything like me, Harry, then this place is awful and you want contact with everyone, right? Well, with me here I can help you get it. And get to Sirius. You couldn't live with him before because of the blood wards, but we share the same blood, so they're going to work for us, and I live at Grimmauld Place – that's … that's Sirius's house. And you can live there, and…"

Dahlia trailed off at the look she was receiving from the boy-her. His jaw was slack and his green eyes were staring at her with something like befuddlement.

She probably could have taken five minutes to plan out what to say so he wouldn't be stunned. Oh well, hindsight and all that.

* * *

Sorry for the wait. Assessment time right now (you know how it is) and then I got hooked on this completed Hook/older!Wendy fanfic ( _Why swallows build in the eaves of houses_ by redhandjill) that refused to let me go for several days afterwards (hooked on Hook, hehe), and then I binged on media (I couldn't help it, I'm so sorry), and _then_ I did some edits on the previous chapters (nothing you need to worry about re-reading though, I promise). But it's a new chapter, so yay! Hope you enjoyed!

Much thanks also to those of you who reviewed with the 'guest' feature. Like Uncle Kracker, you make me smile~ :)


	8. Chapter 8

Dahlia hated to admit it but thought it would do her no favours if she ignored the truth. Harry Potter made her nervous. There was really no other way around it. She was babbling and she knew it, but he was _her_ and that was so _strange_ , and looking at him was like looking at a younger version of her father with her mother's eyes, and it made her chest hurt just a little bit. Not to mention he was so _skinny_ , and what was he even eating? And the mess he'd made in his room! Honestly, the least he could do was recycle the old papers and clear his floor and make his bed and maybe have a decent-sized dinner once or twice a week and _was he staring at her chest?_

"Oi! Eyes up, brat!" she snapped, reaching forward and slapping the back of his head.

Harry jerked at her attack and snapped back. "Hey!" he cried, rubbing the back of his head and glaring. The expression dropped from his face after a moment, and the boy returned to giving her a funny look.

"Not saying I believe you," Tonks disturbed their stare-down and spoke loudly and slowly, like her audience was mentally slow, "but … Dumbledore said to trust you, so…" Tonks sat up and shrugged with her shoulders and her hands, waving them uselessly in front of her. "I dunno. Ready to fly this dragon's nest, Harry?" she grinned.

Harry looked at her. "Who are you again?" he asked doubtfully.

"Oh!" Tonks cried, hair flashing as red as her cheeks before she composed herself and her locks settled back to pink. "I'm Tonks, Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore sent me here to guard you."

"From her?" Harry asked smartly, pointing at the apparent female-him with his thumb.

"Hey!" Dahlia cried, pouting lightly at his attitude.

Tonks snickered. "Nothing quite like her; 'fraid not."

Harry's eyes sharpened and he fixed his gaze on her. "Wait, what's the Order of the Phoenix?" he demanded, standing up straight.

Tonks paused with her mouth in an awkward 'o' shape and glanced towards Dahlia for help. Why she trusted the weird woman with such an unlikely claim she didn't know, but Tonks knew she didn't want to deal with Harry's questions. Maybe that was why. If the female Potter could brave that potential grindylow weed bed for her, Tonks would be forever grateful.

"It's basically Dumbledore's secret anti-Voldemort group," Dahlia shrugged easily. She straightened and put her hands on her hips and sent Harry a stern look then, and the boy tensed knowing she was about to scold him. It was a teenager's sixth sense. "The headquarters is also Grimmauld Place, Sirius's house. Which I'm trying to get you to. Quit your lollygagging, Harry. We've got places to be! So come on, pack up your stuff," she said, shuffling towards him, glancing around the room and shaking her head. "No, let me," she amended and waved her wand, the room packing itself neatly into the trunk sitting open against the wall. "We'd be here hours if I made you sort through that," she glanced distastefully at the bulging trunk then back at the boy as he floundered around.

"Wait, hold on!" he cried, hurrying over to his broom and Hedwig, grabbing her cage as if Dahlia would try and muster her too. "What about Hogwarts, and the Ministry Howler! Why haven't I had any contact with anyone all this time?"

"I'll tell you when we get there," Dahlia assured, nodding her head in satisfaction as Harry coaxed Hedwig into her cage. She was also pleased that he took her word so quickly. She either inspired instinctive trust in him like he did for her, or he really had been that desperate for magical contact since leaving Hogwarts. Dahlia hoped it was the trust, otherwise she'd need to give him the 'stranger danger' talk and he seemed a little old for that.

Tonks had watched the clothes, books, shoes and papers fly around the room, had watched the older woman fuss and order the Boy-Who-Lived into complying with her demands, and had watched the identical expressions of impatience appear on their faces. It was eerie. Their only similarity was their colouring and glasses (though she thought Harry's needed to be updated; honestly, the only ones who had round lenses these days were stodgy old ministry paper-pushers), but watching them interact she found herself believing Dahlia's story. They acted more like brother and sister, actually. Tonks thought one Chosen One was trouble enough, but now they had two. She felt tired already. Then she smirked. The pair might tire the Order out, but Voldemort was going to be pulling his non-existent hair out over them. That thought made her very happy.

"Where are we going again?" Harry asked, hefting his trunk and broom up under one arm and trying to balance a now disgruntled Hedwig in her cage under the other.

"Stop, stop," Dahlia bossed, waving her wand and levitating the Firebolt and the trunk. Hedwig gratefully settled back into her cage as Harry was free to carry her with both hands. Tonks stood to follow them as Dahlia strode out of the room and down the hall. Harry hurried after her, ignoring his owl's hoots of displeasure as she was jostled. "Oh." Dahlia suddenly stopped just before the stairs and turned to face her little ducklings. "Er, right. Secret Keeper." Tonks whistled and nodded in understanding while Harry frowned.

"What's a Secret Keeper?" he asked expectantly.

"A problem. Maybe," she bit her lip and shrugged. She returned to leading them down the stairs and was almost at the bottom when they all heard two distinct _pops_ in the direction of the living room and an answering shriek from Petunia.

Then two identical redheads pushed and shoved each other into the hall and literally fell over each other as soon as they spotted Dahlia on the stairs, and made their way to her.

"When you left in such a hurry, Dumbledore didn't have time to give you this," said the twin on the left, holding out a small, folded piece of paper gallantly. Dahlia already had a good idea what it was.

"And we couldn't leave a lady stranded like that, so we volunteered to hand deliver it for you," said the other, grinning charmingly and running a hand through his hair.

"Weasley Twin Express!" the left twin cried happily, then cringed.

"No, we're not using that," the right twin admonished, shaking his head.

"Thanks, boys," Dahlia smiled, and if her eyes had misted during their banter, no one noticed.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves!" said one, sweeping into a deep bow at the same time as the other.

"You already know us, of course, but I'm Fred," Fred said.

"And I'm George," said George, reaching forward to take her hand and place a kiss on her knuckles. Fred quickly snatched the other up and did the same.

Dahlia giggled and shook her head. "No, it's a good thing you introduced yourselves," she smiled, "you were bound to have different names if you were both boys."

Their twin looks of shock cut short how long she was going to make that joke last, and she shook in laughter.

"I'm joking," she said, still chuckling. The twins settled and joined her, then finally looked at Harry and Tonks.

"How d'you like having a girl version of you around so far, eh Harry?" ribbed George, waggling his eyebrows at the boy as Tonks snorted at their display.

"We like it very much," added Fred playfully, winking at Dahlia and sending her a charming grin.

Harry seemed to choke on his own spit for a moment, made worse when Tonks laughed boisterously and slapped his back, knocking his glasses askew.

He adjusted his glasses and glanced over to study Dahlia again, eyes lingering guardedly on her obvious curves.

"Oi!" she cried, and hit him again.

Harry yelped. Again.

* * *

Boom! New chapter! And Harry is kind of (not really-sort of) a pervert. That was fun to write. Apologies for not having this up earlier in the week, my internet bill kind of … wasn't paid. And the company just aren't understanding enough to give me the benefit of the doubt and don't care about your investment in reading this story at all. Heartless, I tell you. Heartless! And ( _what have I done?_ ) I've kind of-maybe-possibly started four separate _A Song of Ice and Fire_ / _Game of Thrones_ stories (while waiting for my internet to come back). I have a serious problem. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And thanks again to all you lovely anonymous people who reviewed, I appreciate you all (:

Reviewer _Danika:_ Your review was so right. I laughed my arse off. Thank you for that bit of humour. Can you just imagine the chaos a fem!James/Sirius pairing would create? I can, and that's a serious problem, because now I have ideas. (Haha, did you see what I did with Sirius/serious there?) _—_ Ohmygod, I'm so lame :|

A collective well done from everyone for graduating, uzumaki mimi! (Everyone together!) _Congratulations~!_


	9. Chapter 9

Dahlia sat quietly in the kitchen corner, a soft smile on her face as she observed Harry, Remus and Sirius interact. A number of Order members had arrived since she left on her self-appointed mission to retrieve Harry from Dursley hell, and their glances in her direction were not subtle in the least. Except Moody; he was absolutely inconspicuous as he attempted to peel the flesh from her bones with his intense stare.

Dahlia glanced at him and chuckled quietly to herself, only smirking wider when his real eye narrowed and he leaned further in her direction. She was actually enjoying herself as she observed all the occupants of the house, deceased and living alike. It was almost like she'd stepped into a dream, and sitting back from them all allowed her to slip into an almost trance-like state as her mind wandered in all directions.

Moody was still alive, and he'd stay that way. It was also more fun than she could remember messing with him, although that was probably because she'd been so young and intimidated by him the first time around. Now, as Head Auror, she'd faced things much scarier than Alastor Moody could ever hope to be. The missing body parts and only partly intact nose still unnerved her a little, though, but she still preferred his mad eye on his face than in the toad's door.

Tonks had returned with her and was sitting beside her grizzled mentor, laughing with Emmeline Vance across the table, both who would live too. Dahlia recalled the blow that Vance's death had been to the Order, and how it had made such public news in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Watching Tonks laugh, though, Dahlia was struck by how very _young_ she was. Younger than her, certainly. She could barely be older than twenty-one right now. Dahlia began to feel sick at the thought, her playful mood retreating, and turned to the next person she was determined to save.

Severus Snape. There he was, standing stiffly in the corner opposite her, looking as pleased to be there as he ever had (which was to say, not at all). Dahlia scarcely knew where to begin when it came to Severus Snape. All she could do was stare, a deeply thoughtful look on her face. He glanced at her then, their eyes clashing, and she wondered if he was using Legilimency as he glared. Maybe, maybe not, but there was one clear thought in her head that was louder than any had been so far; _Thank you_. He made no outward expression but he glanced away, transferring his glare to Dumbledore, who stood with Professor McGonagall nearby. Dahlia lifted her lips in a faint smile at his behaviour. It was so refreshingly predictable.

Harry disentangling himself from the Marauders caught her attention, and she watched as he made his way to Dumbledore. Dahlia frowned when she saw the headmaster turn away from him before he could get close, and effectively ignore him. She remembered that treatment very well, and how destructive it had been. Harry could potentially handle it differently than she had – for all their similarities they were still different people – but Dahlia didn't doubt it would still hurt him just as much as it had hurt her. Well, this was something she could nip in the bud right now.

Dahlia jumped up from her seat and strode towards the headmaster. She would have laughed at the way Moody jumped to his foot-and-stump and drew his wand on her if she hadn't been so determined.

"Harry!" she called, smiling as she reached him. Hesitating only a moment, Dahlia wrapped her arm around his upper back and steered him back towards Dumbledore. "Come with me," she murmured, eyes narrowed determinedly. "Professor Dumbledore," she addressed, smiling charmingly as he turned around, "that tactic you're thinking of is a bad idea, trust me. Been there, done that; it didn't work," she advised, tilting her head down and eyeing him seriously. "Harry wanted to speak with you. Didn't you, Harry?" Dahlia smiled down at her befuddled counterpart and was struck by the sudden desire to pinch his cheeks. She refrained, but only just.

"Er, yeah," the boy coughed, and glanced towards Dahlia before turning away. "I was just wondering what we were going to do about that Ministry Howler," he began, fidgeting with his hands. "I didn't do any magic, sir, I swear. They can't expel me for that, can they?"

Dumbledore hadn't looked away from Dahlia, studying her neutrally before finally turning to Harry with an almost relieved smile that, in turn, relieved Dahlia. Much of some fifth year angst had been averted. Hallelujah.

"Not at all, my dear boy," he promised, patting Harry's shoulder. "If I'm not mistaken, it was Dahlia who initially tripped the Ministry underage magic sensors when she apparated. It won't be a problem to get this sorted out and have you ready to return to Hogwarts in no time."

Dahlia felt Harry's shoulders slump in relief beneath her arm and smiled fondly at the teenager. He really was endearing himself to her with very little effort. Dahlia wondered if there was a deeper reason for that but dismissed it. There was nothing wrong with being fond of the boy. He was essentially her family now, and she'd always unequivocally loved and been unwaveringly loyal to her family.

"I'll get everything sorted out tomorrow before the trial," she reassured, squeezing his arm.

Harry turned to her, shocked. "What trial?!" he yelped, green eyes wide.

Dahlia's eyes imitated his. "Um…" she began, "Professor Dumbledore appealed it, I think…?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I had intended to tell Harry in a more delicate way, but yes, I organised your immediate ruling to be suspended pending trial. Should all go well between Dahlia and the Ministry tomorrow, you won't need to attend a trial whatsoever."

Harry relaxed again and smiled at the old man. Soon dismissing himself, Harry left Dahlia and Dumbledore alone.

She kept her eyes on the boy as he sat with Ron and Hermione, but spoke in low tones to the headmaster. "It won't be so easy tomorrow, no matter what proof I give them," she confessed. "They're out for his blood this year, and yours," she added, swivelling to face him again.

Dumbledore hummed and nodded in understanding. "I imagine that will be the way of it, which is why I'll be accompanying you tomorrow," he informed her, smiling reassuringly. "While Cornelius has been doing his upmost to discredit me, I still carry a bit of weight, if I do say so myself," he chuckled, rubbing his thin stomach.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow at him and couldn't help but smile in amusement. "The most of anyone I know," she grinned, then nodded her head. "Besides me, of course, though I don't imagine I have the same clout as I did back home," she mused, feeling sad for a moment before forcing it away. "I figure I'll need some kind of cover story, too," she added, mouth twisting in equal thought and distaste.

Dumbledore chuckled and pat her shoulder in reassurance.

"Leave that to me, my dear."

* * *

I hope you don't feel cheated by the lateness of this update. I was away from home for a week, then I started art school, then I got sick, then it was my 21st birthday (got _the Cursed Child_ , yesss~), and then I had assessment, but I'm clearly back! For how long? I won't make promises this time; I've learned my lesson. (Also, art school is intensive, holy crap). I do hope you enjoyed this chapter, though! You and me both hope the next one will be up soon, touch wood (hits Oliver Wood). Fingers crossed!

* * *

 _Let's answer some guest reviewer questions (and leading comments)!_

Unknown guest reviewer: [ _This is good but why doesn't she tell them personal details i.e. Ariana or under the cupboard so they believe her more?_ ]

She doesn't quite need to, though there will be some conversations to that effect coming up. Let me justify: Tonks trusts Dumbledore, implicitly, so when his patronus told her to trust Dahlia, she did. Now, Harry (at this point in time) has been confined to Privet Drive and barely left the premises all summer. He's had no contact with the wizarding world except for the Daily Prophet (which tells him all sorts of nothing), Voldemort's just come back so he's in a constant state of restless agitation and wanting to get out there and _do_ something and _know_ anything, and he's been disturbed almost every night by nightmares (watching Cedric die and Voldemort come back)—he's desperate. So, when Dahlia comes in (with Tonks, an auror) and tells him to pack up so she can take him to Sirius, he's going to jump on that like a lifeline (especially right after that Ministry Howler telling him he'll never go back to Hogwarts, and her casual namedrop of Sirius—still a psychopath to the general public). Does that explain it well enough? Also, regarding the trust she gets at Grimmauld Place (if you also meant that), Dumbledore wouldn't be above using Legilimency on a strange woman who turns up without an invitation to the house he Secret-Keeps for during the "shadow war" going on right now. So he wouldn't need her to info-dump her knowledge on him (though she does mention the prophecy—something only certain members of the Order and Voldemort himself are aware of). And Sirius and Molly trust Dumbledore. Thanks for the question!

Loves to read books _on chapter 7_ : [ _Great story. I can picture Harry and the others being confused about how Harry is a girl in another dimension and finally she saying "think if it like this; we are both the first born children of James and Lily Potter. Other than that we are different people at different points in our lives". They should just look at the two as if they are siblings. This way a relationship between Sirius and his 'female god son from another dimension ' isn't as creepy. Update soon, and keep up the great work._ ]

First of all, I completely agree with you about how creepy it is. Honestly, I do. It was a surprise even to me when I decided to pair my fem!Harry with Sirius (there was a lot of internal debate, trust me, but I eventually decided I liked the personal challenge of writing something I found otherwise distasteful). So for that alone, I can assure you that I will be making it as not-creepy as possible. Dahlia will also react in a similar way (Sirius too) before they can rationalise what they're each feeling. And Remus will find it hilarious. Because I love the image of Remus teasing Sirius about his girl troubles and just making it worse for his friend (later getting his comeuppance when Tonks starts to pursue him with Dahlia's full support).

Mel: [ _I love female Harry and Rhaegar Targaryen pairing stories. If you consider writing one, that would be amazing._ ]

I love that idea so much. It is definitely not off the table. If you're patient enough to keep a lookout (and interested enough), I do have two other Rhaegar pairings planned in the (near...?) future. I haven't thought of any fem!Harry/Rhaegar ones before, but now that you've put the idea in my head it'll be swimming around there for months! Who knows what I'll come up with?

Danika: [ _I completely agree with you...seriously, haha. Sirius would probably be obsessively infatuated with female James the same way male James was with Lily, eccept that female James and Sirius would still be best friends and Marauders, lol. Thanks for your note!_ ]

YES. Enough said, I'm going to write it. Maybe a one-shot, maybe a short series, but I'll be writing it. Ugh, it's all I want now~! _Whispers_ **The feels**... :O

 _Quick note that might be of interest to some of you!_

There will be no Dumbledore-bashing in this fic. I know that it's so easy to cast him as the manipulative old bastard that controlled Harry's life and sent him to slaughter, but that's not how JKR intended him, nor how I remember him. Plus, in canon, Harry forgave Dumbledore for the omissions and the 'preparations' (you could call them) when they met up at King's Cross (in his head). This story, while clearly now off-canon, will still stay true to as much canon as it can. Besides, Harry is not just the Boy-Who-Lived but the Boy-Who- _Loved_. He's mature enough to recognise what Dumbledore did and why, and he is, more than anything, the boy with the biggest heart and Dumbledore is one of the people he truly loved (which is why he took Dumbledore's lack of sharing his personal history so hard in canon). I wouldn't dream of tarnishing that. (Maybe one day I'll cast an evil Dumbledore, but I think I only ever would if he was a main antagonist, and I'm just not there yet—I love the guy).

 _These responses were really long. I hope that never happens again, but I also hope you found some of it interesting. Let me know! I love answering questions about what I write, but I also know I write too much (in response). Ah, to find a balance…_

One last question. I was initially going to go the canon pairing route for everyone, but a couple of you lovely people have mentioned Harry with people other than Ginny. Ginny isn't a harpy in this story (she's actually going to be awesome), but if you have an opinion on the pairing I'd be happy to hear it (and maybe take it into account).


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner that evening was loud and lively, a wild, overwhelming affair for the woman who didn't quite belong. After the meal had been finished, and the residents of Grimmauld Place had calmed down, Dahlia was finishing her evening cup of tea, keeping quietly to herself. Glancing up as she was approached, she smiled as Dumbledore sat down next to her at the table. The conversation was quiet among the Order, the famed trio slipping away in what they hoped was a stealthy way. In truth, every person at the table had noticed and most had smiled to themselves at their effort.

"It's been a busy day for you," Dumbledore began, sighing contentedly and stretching his old bones out. "You must be ready to put your head on a pillow."

Dahlia hummed and put her teacup down, eyes trailing over every face like a devoted painter, admiring the laughs and life each subject radiated. Sirius and Remus were speaking together, Fred and George were laughing with each other, Ginny and Tonks were having an animated discussion, and Mr and Mrs Weasley were watching their children fondly, hands clasped beneath the table.

"I am," she admitted, shifting her head on her neck to better see him. "There's still so much to do, though, and to say," she lamented. A full stomach and cup of tea really did do wonders for her relaxation, unfortunate that it made her so tired when there was still so much to do.

Dumbledore shook his head. "My dear, you've had a full day. There will be time plenty enough for you to enlighten us on how you achieved your victory tomorrow, and the coming weeks. You should take time now and rest. You'll need your wits for our trip to the Ministry tomorrow."

Dahlia huffed in equal parts amusement and despair, remembering just how painful the Ministry used to be. "Right," she said, shaking her head, "it'll be an uphill battle with them tomorrow, won't it?" She sighed, and ran her hand through her hair. Dumbledore chuckled but didn't refute her. Dahlia sighed again and stood up on aching feet. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then, Professor," she smiled, stretching her back. "Bright and early, and ready to take down Fudge."

"Now, Dahlia, you know I'm not trying to undermine Cornelius. Simply help him see the truth," the headmaster chided, waving a spidery finger at her. Dahlia rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"Ready for bed, dear?" Mrs Weasley had shuffled over, reaching to pick up Dahlia's discarded teacup. "You look exhausted. Come on, we prepared a room for you," she hustled, hand on Dahlia's back as she moved her. Dahlia glanced back over her shoulder one last time as she left the room, just to get one more glimpse of the assembled Order. If she went to sleep and woke up home again, she wanted to see them all together, laughing and smiling, just one last time.

Finally making their way to the floor Mrs Weasley had chosen for her, in a dark and dirty hallway despite best efforts to clean it and the rest of the house, the motherly witch smiled as she stopped in front of an unremarkable oaken door.

"Here you are, dear," she said, pushing it open and waving her arm. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."

Dahlia smiled and thanked Mrs Weasley with half her attention, caught between the old and the new, because it wasn't unremarkable at all. Of all the rooms to give her, they gave her this one. This had been Teddy's room when he came to visit her, and now she'd be using it as the guest instead. It was the perfect middle ground between what was once her bedroom, the bathroom on this floor, and the kitchen for whenever her godson wanted a midnight snack. Dahlia didn't notice Mrs Weasley move away and return downstairs, too distracted by images of blue-haired little boys running back to bed with chocolate smeared over their mouths in the dead of night. Her face screwed up in sudden grief at the thought of him, the quiet hall giving her time to slow down and think like her busy day and dinner had not. All those people downstairs who were alive and well weren't the ghosts anymore; little Teddy Lupin had become the ghost to her, a never-was boy in this new world. And suddenly she felt all alone.

"Filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors, dirtying the house of my mistress. How she would punish Kreacher if she saw he let them in."

Dahlia inhaled to control herself and turned to see her old elf reach the top of the stairs, linen folded in his skinny arms. Well, she supposed he wasn't her elf anymore, that cranky yet loveable creature that always made sure she had a warm meal after Quidditch, and treacle tart and butterbeer on the second of May. It was unsettling to see him so unwell. After knowing how wonderful Kreacher could be, it made her sad to see him reduced to what he had been before she'd given him that locket.

"Half-breeds and half-bloods, spreading their filth through my mistress's noble house."

Dahlia pursed her lips at Kreacher as he shuffled slowly towards her door, seemingly oblivious to her stood still outside the room. She recalled how caught up in his own world he had been after having suffered alone in the house with only Walburga Black's portrait all those years. He really was a sad little creature right now, and caused Dahlia no shortage of pity.

Still muttering to himself, the aged elf passed by her knees and hobbled into her room, pausing in his vicious words for the first time only when he glanced up and noticed the bed already made. Dahlia stepped inside and shut the door behind her as she watched him. He started his vitriol again, after a moment, and turned to begin making his way back towards the door. Dahlia shook her head at him and decided enough was enough.

"Kreacher," she acknowledged, watching as he flinched and glanced up at her as if only noticing her for the first time.

He vocalised his thoughts again. "It's the new mistress. Mistress Walburga wouldn't like that, not this new one. Oh, my poor mistress, she won't replace you, she can't replace you. Dahlia Potter, the woman from far away. Stepping in as bold as brass, thinking she can save the world," he muttered, staring up at her hatefully, his eyes large, bloodshot, and pale.

Dahlia shook her head and ignored his words. This Kreacher, as her Kreacher before, was a product of the wizards that made him. And this Kreacher hadn't betrayed the Order yet.

"Hello, Kreacher," she began, stepping further into the room. His eyes narrowed on her. "How are you?" she asked awkwardly, then immediately grimaced at her question and looked helplessly at the sorry house-elf.

Kreacher's mouth twisted. "Wonders how he is? What does the new mistress want from Kreacher?" Dahlia was uncertain if he was asking her or talking to himself, but decided to jump right into the thick of it, as she always had.

"I want you to answer a question for me, Kreacher," she said, straightening up. "Just one question, and I want you to tell the truth."

So many things seemed to be the same in Harry's world, but just as many could yet be different. It wasn't just her being a boy, or the slower timeline that worried her. If Voldemort was a different kind of evil here, her help might be useless after all.

" _Mistress_ ," he spat, addressing her, "can ask Kreacher anything and he will answer her."

He hated her, though, and she knew from personal experience that just one loophole would be exploited by the hateful house-elf bound to serve her. He'd done it to Sirius, he'd done it to her before she earned his loyalty, and he would do it again given the chance. But Dahlia knew, whatever he was expecting from her, it wasn't this.

"Did Master Regulus ask you to destroy a locket?"

The house-elf froze, eyes wide and glassy, then his limbs started shaking and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Dahlia felt a swell of love and pity for this elf, and swooped down without thinking to wrap him in a hug. He jerked viciously away from her, then seemed to catch himself, and stiffened. She'd stopped, though, and let her arms fall to her sides on the floor where she crouched, watching the old elf gasp and shake and start to cry.

"Did he, Kreacher?" she asked quietly, eyes and face softening.

He was already shaking so much it was hard to tell, but then Kreacher's eyes met her own and he nodded.

" _Yesss_ ," he hissed, lips trembling. "Master Regulus asked Kreacher to destroy it but Kreacher could not. He failed, oh, he failed his poor, precious master." He began to wail, big, fat tears escaping his eyes, and started to shake even worse than before. Dahlia could no longer help herself and reached out, clasping his bony shoulder.

"You didn't fail him, Kreacher," she said, shaking her head. "We won't fail him. We'll finish what Master Regulus started, and destroy the thing that killed him."

Sniffling and disbelieving, Kreacher looked up at her, pale eyes wide and watery. Dahlia squeezed his shoulder once and stood up, resolute as ever before.

"Bring me the locket, Kreacher," she ordered, countenance firm. "Bring me the locket Master Regulus asked you to destroy."

A beat, a breath, a blink.

And then he disappeared with a _crack_.

* * *

Man, I love house-elves. Does anyone else ever imagine Kreacher and Molly Weasley cold warring with each other while they're in the same house? The Housekeeping Hunger Games, or something. Kreacher may not do his job properly but it's still his house, and Molly does her job above the call of duty all up in his territory. Just the image of them getting stuck in over how to fold sheets has me in giggles.

And these chapters are finally getting slowly but steadily longer (like I promised). I bet that makes you very pleased.

Oh, and even though I mentioned I find the Sirius/fem!Harry pairing kinda squicky (maybe I've only ever read the ones not done right?), a few of you have mentioned how hard you ship it, so I thought I'd mention something else. I have at least one more fem!Harry/Sirius pairing in the works (a time-travel with a Ginny/Remus pairing too—because why not?), that is slowly but surely getting written. If you're interested. It's called _In Godric's Hollow_ – so far, anyway. Maybe you'd read it too? (If so, do you want me to put the first chapter up? I can promise, though, that it won't be updated regularly at all, as I haven't got it as fleshed out as this fic yet—I just kinda write it when I need a break from other fics.)

Wow. So much genderbending. Do I have an addiction? …Nah.

Thanks so much for all the pairing suggestions, too! Wowza, I was a little blown away. I would love to answer all of you, reassuring you or telling you 'hell no!' (I'm joking…I'd say it nicer than that :P), but if I were to answer some of you guest reviewers in this AN I'd be giving some of the game away, and ruining my own fun. Drat. Some of you did get me thinking in some non-canon pairing directions, but you'll have to wait and see, I guess ;) I will say, however, that while this story is AU, I always do my best to keep characters _in_ character (if not, I'll always specify OOC so you know what to expect), so a couple of the pairings suggested are just not feasible with the way things stand in JK's world. Sorry to those of you with your hearts set on them; _Red Sky At Night_ (at least) will not change the fundamentals of each character's personality to suit an 'out-there' non-canon pairing (and I won't be spending enough time on their character development just so they can have that romantic pairing realistically). As for Dahlia's previous pairings (in her universe), there will be some happy and sad times to come as our canon characters learn more about her past. Hint: her future went in a very different direction to Harry's because of reasons, even if she ended up Head Auror anyway. (But more on that later).


	11. Chapter 11

Ron and Hermione exchanged concerned looks over Harry's head, the three of them sequestered away in the boys' upstairs bedroom finally after a loud, busy dinner with half the Order and their new guest. Harry was trying to process their excuse for not writing to him since the end of fourth year, and their sudden information overload when they finally got him alone. He was still struggling to understand why keeping him in the dark had been necessary, though. He was the one who saw Voldemort come back, he was the one used in the ritual, he was the one targeted by the dark lord, and _he was the one who saw Cedric get killed_.

"To protect me," he repeated quietly, starting to shake his head in swiftly mounting anger. "What kind of excuse is that? It's rubbish."

Ron looked away uncomfortably while Hermione wrung her hands together. "We're so sorry, Harry, but Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you anything," she fretted.

"So I was left half the summer without any word at all because Dumbledore said so?" he shook his head, feeling betrayal tighten his chest. "I had no word from any of you! I didn't know if you'd been killed or taken, or if anything was being done! _The Prophet_ wasn't telling me anything –"

Ron nodded quickly. "Well that's it, isn't it? _The Prophet_ should be all over You-Know-Who's return, but it's not, which means someone's trying to hush it all up."

Harry shook his head uncomprehendingly. "But why? Voldemort's back. People need to know. They need to be safe!"

"We're trying," Hermione reassured him, "the Order and Professor Dumbledore are trying, Harry, but _the Prophet_ and the Ministry's slandering of you and the Headmaster isn't making it easy. They're convincing the public that you're a liar and Professor Dumbledore's a loon, and –"

"So what are they telling everyone killed Cedric?" he demanded, green light and ghosts filling his mind's eye. And guilt, there was a lot of guilt in his heart for the one he was unable to save.

Both his friends looked even more hesitant than before, looking at each other again to exchange nervous glances. It was Ron who spoke, slow and uncertain.

"They're saying it was an accident," he admitted, cringing as Harry grew red with fury.

He jumped up from the bed and began pacing, his fingers twitching to throw something across the room. His breathing was heavy and his footsteps hard on the wooden floor, and his friends kept quiet as they waited for him to calm down.

"How—how can they say that? How can they justify…?" he grabbed his messy hair and pulled it agitatedly. "And you're telling me people believe that rubbish? After everything Dumbledore's done, after everything I've said…?" Harry looked at his friends in vexation. "Voldemort's back, and they're not letting anyone know?"

Ron shifted. "Dahlia seems to know," he murmured, looking around the room without making eye contact. Both Harry and Hermione frowned at their friend but didn't refute him. He took courage from that and continued louder. "She's from the future, isn't she? So she already knows how to help."

"A _parallel_ future, Ron," Hermione corrected. "More than just Harry's sex could be different there. We can't rely on everything she knows and trust it's exactly the same here."

"Yeah, but it's a start," he defended himself. Harry frowned at the pair thoughtfully.

"Are we sure, though?" Harry asked. It had all happened so fast, back in Privet Drive. The expulsion, the woman, the packing, and the arrival at Grimmauld Place. And trying to reconcile the strange experience of having a woman tell him they were the same person, with all her very female attributes contrasting with what he'd seen in the mirror for the past fourteen years. It was enough to unrest the most assured wizard, let alone a teenage boy. "I mean, magic can do incredible things, but … another me? A girl me? From the future?" he clarified for their benefit.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, then Hermione spoke. "Well, Dumbledore seems to believe her," she said faithfully, even though her words were slow.

Ron nodded. "She got that dumb elf to acknowledge her too," he asserted.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, hitting his arm. "Kreacher isn't dumb –"

Ron scoffed, then nodded exaggeratedly. "You're right, Hermione; he's rude, arrogant, useless, totally nutty, and ugly as –"

"He can't help being that way!" she defended fiercely. "He's been alone in this house for years, the poor thing, and –"

"Guys!" Harry shouted, rubbing his temple in exasperation. "Can we get back to the point? You know, _Dahlia Potter_?"

His best friends shifted angrily in their spots on the bed and didn't look at each other.

"Well, impossible as it is, Dumbledore believes her, and she seems to know Order secrets, because –"

"Yeah, like that prophecy they mentioned," Ron jumped in eagerly, excited at the new information.

Hermione growled. "Will you stop interrupting me?" she demanded, still sore over his dismissal of Kreacher and his circumstances.

Harry ignored their bickering and frowned. "What prophecy?" he wondered, looking between the two.

Ron shrugged. "We dunno, mate, but it sure shut Mum, Sirius and Dumbledore up when she mentioned it."

Hermione's mouth twisted distastefully. "Be that as it may, you shouldn't put too much thought into it, Harry. Prophecies are just another murky branch of Divination. You'd have better luck focusing on your practical education than _that_ particular type of magic."

Harry didn't say anything but he wondered about it. His faith in Divination wasn't much better than Hermione's, but if the mention of a prophecy really made Dumbledore pause like Ron said, then there might be something to it after all. Still, there were more pressing things to think about, like his potential trial.

"Hermione," Harry decided, finally seating himself back on the bed, "the Ministry can't really expel me for a bit of magic outside school, especially if it wasn't mine, can they?"

Hermione looked scandalised. "Of course not! If that was the case, Hogwarts wouldn't have nearly so many students attending."

"Not to mention Fred and George would have been expelled years ago," Ron chuckled, shaking his head.

Harry briefly smiled at the thought of the twins causing mischief but continued. "I thought so. Then how could they send that owl expelling me this time? Why not just a warning?"

Hermione sighed and Ron grimaced, large hands rubbing the back of his head.

"Like I said, Harry, the Ministry wants to keep you quiet and not cause panic among the general population," she explained delicately, biting her lip.

"They want to get rid of you, mate," Ron summarised bluntly, shrugging. "You're ruining Fudge's perfect little world. You're enemy number one, as far as he's concerned."

"Great," Harry grumbled, resting his elbow on his knee and leaning into his palm. "It's like the Chamber of Secrets all over again; I'm apparently to blame and, while everyone's fussing about me, the real snake'll slip in and start causing terror. Right?" he huffed restlessly, giving his friends an ironic smile.

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, Harry, it really isn't –"

"Right," Ron nodded, leaning back on the bed.

" _Stop_ interrupting me, Ronald!"

* * *

Did I go too far with the Ron/Hermione banter? I just couldn't stop. When they work together, they work together; when they're bickering, duck and cover. I love it.

Just a reminder to those of you who have mentioned it, I'm using the book ages for our (adult) characters, not the movies. So, Tonks is 22, Remus is 35, Sirius is 36, Severus is 35, Dumbledore is old as dirt, and the kids are 14 and 15 at this point in time. Hope that puts some queries to rest!

Guys, I have the next few chapters already written. Be so happy and proud. You'll be getting a couple of regular updates the next few weeks. And they're long ones. Yesss. I mean, wow, I'm capable of great feats of writing when ... a whole bunch of assessment is due. Because that's how I roll; procrastinate till the very end. I actually think I need to sort out my priorities, but ... at least they're still better than first year Hermione's. Right?


	12. Chapter 12

Dahlia felt both familiar and foreign emotions as she walked through the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic the next morning, feeling full from the breakfast Mrs Weasley had forced down her throat. The hustle and bustle at the centre of wizarding government in Britain was the same as ever, but there were faint stirrings of unease amongst the witches and wizards scurrying through its halls. She and Dumbledore were also drawing many stares from the people they passed, but neither gave it much mind, both being accustomed to the attention, good and ill.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Dahlia muttered in disgust, looking up at the imposing golden fountain featuring the magical creatures staring in adoration at the witch and wizard standing above them.

Dumbledore followed her gaze and made a humming noise in the back of his throat. "A common malady among our kind, Dahlia, that so many believe themselves inherently superior to those they perceive as different to them. Foolish indeed, that so many count our value by what is on the outside, rather than what is inside us."

Dahlia smiled at his wise words, feeling lighter inside her chest at the familiar philosophical conversation. "Couldn't have said it better myself, Professor," she agreed, the pair passing easily through the wand checking station and towards the elevator.

Stepping inside the rather full transportation, Dumbledore was immediately greeted by several of the occupants of the small confines. Dahlia smiled politely during their exchanges, vaguely recognising some faces but thinking it best she remain quiet. That changed when attention was brought to her by a very familiar face indeed.

"Who's your companion, Professor Dumbledore?" Kingsley Shacklebolt enquired, tilting his head around a portly older wizard to enter the conversation. Dahlia blinked at the younger-looking future Minister, for a moment taken aback. He should already know exactly who she was, but perhaps that was part of Dumbledore's game.

"This?" the old wizard asked brightly, as if he'd been waiting for this question all along. "This is Dahlia Potter." He chuckled easily, amused by the shock and interest his words had garnered.

Dahlia cleared her throat unsurely and glanced at the headmaster. He seemed as at ease as ever, though, and he had always enjoyed keeping her on her toes. Dahlia wondered if that was where part of her spontaneity came from, having had to react to all the times Dumbledore had withheld information from her and let her dive right in. Some things never changed. She swore he took more enjoyment from seeing her flounder than he should.

"Potter?" asked one of the wizards, voice high and snide.

Dumbledore nodded his head, beard and glasses bobbing endearingly at the motion as his eyes twinkled. "Indeed," he confirmed, smiling benignly at the assembled gossipmongers, "Harry Potter's estranged aunt."

Before any more could be said, the elevator stopped at their floor, and dinged.

"Oh, this is us, Dahlia! We can't keep the Minister waiting, can we?" He chuckled again and bid farewell to the gobsmacked assembly, and lead his companion out of the lift.

Dahlia snickered to herself and glanced over her shoulder as the doors shut on their stunned faces. Truth be told, she was sure that their floor had been third or fourth in line, and wondered if the sneaky professor had a hand in their arrival promptly following his little surprise. He had always liked to leave them wondering, after all. Dahlia wouldn't put it past him for all this to have been some grand design.

Strolling down the hallway towards the secretary's desk, Dahlia mumbled out the side of her mouth, "Estranged aunt?"

Dumbledore peeked out the corner of his eyes and grinned like a schoolboy in on a great trick. "Of course."

Dahlia waited a moment for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Lifting her eyebrows at the man, she sighed in patient amusement and shook her head. "All right, then. You know what you're doing. I hope."

The headmaster twinkled at her again and chuckled, but it was a voice down the hall that responded before he could.

"Professor Dumbledore," the young man addressed, striding quickly and pompously towards the pair.

Dahlia looked at him in shock. "Percy?" she murmured, then had to shake her head and remind herself that yes, Percy Weasley had been working directly for the Minister for a time; a time when his relationship with his family had most suffered, as a matter of fact.

Perhaps for the best that he hadn't heard her, lest he ask too many questions. Dumbledore took the lead while she shook her head.

"Ah, Mr Weasley!" he greeted jovially as they neared each other. "How are you enjoying life after Hogwarts?" the headmaster asked, but amused Dahlia as he failed to slow down when Percy reached them, trying to stop their forward march. "It's so fulfilling to see past students ascend to the highest heights, and fulfil their potential. Tell me, Mr Weasley, what manner of noble work does our esteemed Minister have you doing? Quite an impressive promotion for one so recently out of school," he said, somehow ducking under Percy's outstretched arms and forcing the boy to scurry after them.

"Yes, thank you, Professor. The Minister recognised –" he huffed and skipped ahead, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses tensely, "– the Minister recognised my dedication and hard – you really can't go in there!" he cried, agitated, as he was outmanoeuvred by the aged headmaster yet again, the elderly wizard slipping around his puffed up figure and slipping as easily as an eel towards the Minister's door.

The secretary behind her desk stood up and gaped at the three people that had invaded the Minister's outer office.

"Not to worry, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore assured, waving his hand and smiling as innocently as a lamb, "Cornelius has always had time for me. Perhaps, during this meeting, the Minister would like some tea and biscuits. Would you mind?" And he opened the door and slipped into the room, crying "Cornelius! I hope you're not too busy to see an old friend," and left Dahlia almost as dumbstruck as Percy.

The self-exiled Weasley turned to her and began puffing himself up again, ready to boss her where he could not the headmaster, but was derailed by her sudden gesture.

"I'm with him," she said, sticking her thumb in Dumbledore's direction, and slipped past Percy before he could do more than squawk in opposition. She shut the door in his face and probably took more pleasure from his expression than she should. He'd been insufferable during this time, and she hoped for Mrs Weasley's sake that it wouldn't last nearly as long as it had in her world.

Turning to face the room, she was met with a flushed, self-important Fudge, and Dumbledore sitting comfortably in a chair he had to have transfigured himself, smiling and twinkling like he had no where he'd rather be.

"I'm a very busy man, Dumbledore! You can't just come in whenever you please!" Fudge blustered, hands gesturing ineffectually as he huffed.

"Oh, I know you are, Minister, planning criminal trials for teenage boys and such," he acknowledged, continuing when Fudge went to interrupt. "But I think you'll find that, if you take a moment to listen, my friend Dahlia here will save you all the trouble."

Taking a hint when it was presented to her, Dahlia stepped forward and took the seat next to Dumbledore in the bright, elaborate chair he'd chosen for her. Fudge's wide eyes and angry frown turned to her as she positioned herself beside the headmaster. She nodded her head and smiled politely at him, drawing on her time as head of her department to keep herself professional and calm.

"Minister, I was the one who performed magic at Harry Potter's house yesterday. You see, the boy did no such thing, and to go to trial would highlight a serious breakdown of our esteemed legal system," she said, almost gagging on her own words. "I feel quite embarrassed by all the fuss, actually," she added, smiling with mock self-consciousness. "I know how busy a man in your position must be. I thought it only right to come to you as soon as I was able and explain away this mess."

Smiling disarmingly, Dahlia felt a sense of pride at the way she'd seemed to mollify Minister Fudge with some simple flattery and her pretty face. She just chose to ignore the fact that it was Fudge she was using it on. Fudge shuffled in his seat and huffed, but his face wasn't nearly as red as before. He smiled, although stiffly, at Dahlia and ignored Dumbledore when he responded.

"Well, it was very considerate of you to come to me regarding this matter," he began, but as he straightened in his seat Dahlia got a bad feeling, and could already feel the exhaustion dealing with this little man would induce. "Be that as it may, I can't just dismiss these charges once they've been made. The law is the law, and I pride myself on upholding it to the best of my ability." He shook his head and smiled at her as if it would make everything better. "The trial will go ahead and if, as you say, the boy is innocent, then he will be proven innocent by the witches and wizards assembled to judge him."

"Minister," Dahlia implored, leaning forward in her seat, and ignoring the knock on and opening of his office door, "I'd be happy to prove it now and avoid all the trouble of a full trial. As you said, you're a very busy man, and organising this trial and all the paperwork that comes with it is hassle you could do without. There are more important things that need your attention than one silly misunderstanding I can clear up for you right now."

" _Hem, hem_ ," came a sugary, familiar, irritating little cough from over her shoulder.

Every thought in Dahlia's head was derailed by the memorable sound that announced the bane of her fifth year, the pink toad that did as much damage as Voldemort.

"Like what, dear?"

For the first time in a long time, Dahlia felt hate.

* * *

Guys, I just have to say thank you so much for the compliments on my characterisations of the trio last chapter. I was genuinely a bit nervous about that, because I _really_ try to keep them in character when I'm going canon, but to know so many of you found them in character made me really, really giddy. Thank you so much!

Great news! I'm finally writing my _A Song of Ice and Fire/Harry Potter_ crossover, and it's nearly done. 16,000 words into my one-shot, with at least that many to go, it should be up by the time the next chapter for this goes up too (if not sooner). Double-whammy! Been a busy week of writing, that's for sure. Hope you're interested in the fruits of my labour!

 _Guest reviewer with the really long review:_ Thanks so much! And I loved reading your long review, it got me excited for my own story, which was awesome. Glad you find the Ginny/Remus idea interesting, and of course I'll let you know when _In Godric's Hollow_ goes up (I'm not some kind of monster, hahaha). The Regulus stuff will actually be coming up soon, so I hope you like that. And another fan of the Kreacher/Molly cold war! Yesss~ Thanks so much for the awesome review!


	13. Chapter 13

The room grew cold at the same time Dahlia's expression cooled, and she turned to face the toad in pink. Umbridge was even worse than she remembered, all saccharine sweet, toad-like smile, and the _pink_. It was everywhere. That tiny little bundle of vindictive wickedness, that caused so much pain and suffering, was stood before her now, in a position of power she would only abuse more the longer she held it. The scar on the back of Dahlia's hand tingled in memory of the things this wicked woman would one day do. To hell if Dahlia would ever let that happen again.

"Yes, hello, Dolores," Fudge greeted, waving his hand, face visibly growing uncomfortable at the sudden change in Dahlia's demeanour. "What, ah, what brings you here?" he asked.

Umbridge turned away from the dark haired witch, and her smile visibly widened, though not in her favour. Indeed it was a more genuine, admiring smile, but the way it stretched her face wider made the hair on the back of Dahlia's neck stand on end, and made the woman look even fouler than before.

"Your assistant came to me and mentioned you had an unscheduled visitor, Minister," she cooed, strolling around the desk to stand by his side. One sharp, pink-nailed hand lifted up to rest on his chair's top rail possessively, and she leaned closer, the Minister leaning slightly away in discomfort at her proximity. "This is, of course, against Ministry protocol," she giggled obnoxiously, looking at the guest pair as though they were silly children. "A man in your position should know better, Professor Dumbledore, and set a better example for your … inferiors," she smiled.

Dahlia bristled, not at her insinuation, but at the way Dolores Umbridge smiled. It was condescending and superior, dismissive and foul, but still the woman affected a manner that insisted she could do no wrong. Her jaw clenched, and Dahlia took a deep breath as she locked eyes with the pink toad.

"Mm, yes, well," Fudge coughed, shifting in his seat before drawing himself up and clearing his throat. "I think it's all sorted anyway, wouldn't you say, ah…" he trailed off, frowning as he realised he didn't know Dahlia's name.

"No, it's not sorted," she said sharper than she'd intended, made tense due to the arrival of the other witch. "The magic was mine and mine alone. Harry hasn't broken any laws and it's an injustice to put him on trial when I can give you irrefutable evidence here and now that it was mine whose magic was detected."

Umbridge breathed deeply until her shoulders were drawn up to her ears and her chest puffed out, full of hot air. She opened her mouth to argue when Fudge beat her to the punch.

Frowning again, and shaking his head, the Minister denied her yet another time as Dumbledore watched on contemplatively.

"No, I won't repeat myself," he insisted. "It's gone through all the official channels and I don't have the authority to brush aside such a serious charge. The boy will –"

"Of course you have the authority!" Dahlia exclaimed, expression flickering to incredulity before she forced herself to settle on polite disagreement and continued. "If evidence can be presented before trial, indisputably pardoning the accused of all charges, the law states that the trial and future investigation be dismissed. Wizarding law necessitates a fair –"

A silly little giggle interrupted her rebuttal, and the perfectly coiffed hair moved as its owner shook her head.

"And just where did you hear such a thing?" the undersecretary simpered, the Minister flushing and fidgeting but allowing her to continue, taking the time to compose himself after Dahlia's challenge. "Are you an Auror, dear? Do you work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I don't recall ever seeing you there or anywhere in the Ministry before." Umbridge tilted her head and gave her a patronising smile, secure in her high position of authority within the government. "Just _who_ are you?"

Dahlia sat up straight and levelled her with a challenging, narrow-eyed stare. "My name is Dahlia Potter. I'm Harry Potter's aunt."

This pronouncement caused a stir. Umbridge leaned back slightly, her eyebrows journeying up her forehead in astonishment. Fudge coughed and blustered, and sat up straight in his chair.

"Harry Potter doesn't have an aunt," he objected, shaking his sweaty head as the colour in his face intensified. "All his family are dead!" he insensitively cried, perhaps forgetting, as many wizards and witches often did, Harry's Muggle relatives.

For the first time in a while, Dumbledore spoke up. "Ah, yes, I imagined we would reach this little snag. You see, Cornelius, Dahlia is most definitely Harry's aunt. Her estrangement is my fault, I'm afraid."

"Your—your fault?" Fudge turned to Dumbledore. "What the devil do you mean, Albus? Speak plainly, man!" he demanded, puffing himself up again in the face of, what he considered, another one of Dumbledore's manipulations to undermine his authority and oust him from office.

Dumbledore patiently obliged the suspicious man.

"You see, Minister, it was upon my advice, as well as Fleamont and Euphemia Potter's personal wishes, that Dahlia did not attend Hogwarts like her brother James before her," he explained. "The climate as it was concerned them, what with Voldemort –" he ignored both Ministry members' flinches "– gathering followers and strength during that time. They felt Hogwarts was a prime hunting ground for the Dark Lord's followers and chose not to send their precious daughter into that environment. They died shortly after James graduated, as you're aware, and he honoured their decision when Dahlia's care fell to him. After James and Lily died, as her godfather her care then fell to me." His audience was kept captive as he wove his tale, as people ever had been whenever he spoke. "I chose to respect his and their parents' wishes, and so did not send her to complete her education at Hogwarts."

The room was quiet when he finished, Dahlia absorbing the story as surely as Fudge and Umbridge. This was her history now, for as long as she was here, so she thought it best to commit it to memory with as much dedication as she had her studies on Voldemort in sixth year.

Fudge still huffed and puffed, though, and shook his shiny head. "Then the boy should have been placed in her care after his parents died, not with—with Muggles!" he argued, unaware of the precious blood wards that helped keep Harry safe. "But he wasn't, because no one had heard of her! Surely the aunt of the Boy-Who-Lived would have given him some thought and taken him in!"

"I was too young," Dahlia stepped in, composing her account to suit Dumbledore's. "I was only thirteen when James died," she said, doing some quick math in her head, "and when I turned seventeen I left Great Britain to travel and escape some of the grief," she falsely confessed, looking down in mock shame in an effort to garner sympathy from the man behind the desk.

"It seems convenient to me," Umbridge responded, her smile tight now and not so sweet, "that you choose now to appear out of the woodwork."

Dahlia looked up and held her stare. "This is a very trying time for my nephew. Professor Dumbledore contacted me and suggested what he needed was his family's support. I'm here now, to stand beside Harry Potter as my parents would have wanted," she avowed, only Dumbledore privileged to know who she really meant.

"Well, she certainly looks the part," Fudge conceded huffily, eyeing her black hair, green eyes, and glasses, ignorant to where the Potter colouring came from; he only recognised the similarities between her and Harry. Umbridge pressed her mouth into a thin line and suspiciously eyed the new Potter from behind the Minister's chair. "I suppose the boy will be staying with you from now on, Miss Potter?" he grunted, shuffling some papers on his desk, approving of Harry's movement from a Muggle household to a wizarding one despite his current unfavourable feelings for the boy and the headmaster.

"Absolutely," she nodded. Fudge nodded absently back, eyes flickering restlessly around the room. "And it was when I went to move him to my house that I used magic. Not him," she reinforced, drawing the conversation back to her priority.

Umbridge tutted and Fudge exhaled noisily, affecting a put-upon expression at her persistence.

"I can vouch for Dahlia, Minister," Dumbledore attempted to convince him, but it was in vain. Fudge felt defensive over Dumbledore trying to muddle in his affairs and reacted like a cornered animal.

"No! No, I said there would be a trial and there will be a trial. Why, do you have something to hide?" he challenged. Umbridge behind him lifted her chin in haughty approval of his words.

"Nothing to hide, Minister. Simply trying to save you and the other witches and wizards some time," Dumbledore promised, shaking his head.

"We have time enough for this, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore sighed so quietly that Dahlia doubted the other two magical folk heard it, but she did, and it just went to show how very trying dealing with this man could be. Rising to his feet in clear conclusion of their meeting, Dumbledore smiled down at the seated wizard and much shorter witch. Dahlia followed his example and stood, expression stony.

"Well, as always, it has been a delight to see you, Cornelius," he said. Dahlia glanced doubtfully at Dumbledore out of the corner of her eye. "I hope that you find me available should you ever wish to discuss matters of politics again."

Fudge scoffed and Umbridge scowled, but Dumbledore smiled genially and turned to leave. Dahlia stepped in place behind him but the pair halted just before the door when the Minister called out to them.

"How's that search for a new Defence professor going, eh, Dumbledore?" he asked pompously, shaking his head as he continued. "Frauds and werewolves and imposter Death Eaters; I'm sure there are some creatures in the Black Lake that you could try next."

Fudge chuckled to himself while Umbridge obnoxiously giggled at his poor joke. Dahlia breathed deeply in irritation but Dumbledore smiled, waving a wizened hand as if batting the implied insult away as easily as a fly.

"Oh, I'm sure a fitting candidate will present themselves. All I need do is find the right place to look," he assured. Despite his confidence, the Ministry pair were still vindictively amused.

"Well, if you can't find anyone, I suppose the Ministry can step in and help you," Fudge sighed, as though it was a great favour he'd offered the powerful old man. "It might do some good to have a _competent_ teacher at that school for once."

Dahlia almost choked on her scoff, hard eyes darting between Umbridge and Fudge, just done with the pair of them and their vicious conceit.

"That won't be necessary," she bit out, folding her arms over her chest and lifting her head high.

Umbridge giggled and simpered, and levelled her with a deeply patronising look. "Oh, and why would that be, dear?" she condescended. Burning images of High Inquisitors, Inquisitorial Squads, rules and regulations and Dumbledore's flee from the castle, and pink frills and Blood Quills ran through the forefront of Dahlia's mind, and she snapped.

"Because I'm the new professor."

Dahlia paused, rewound the last few moments in her head, and almost cringed at where her temper had landed her yet again.

Well, go big or go home, she supposed.

* * *

I was so tempted to put in "Did you get my text?" you have no idea. If you don't get the reference … well, you practically have an obligation to figure it out. And poor Dahlia, acting before she thinks, so like Harry. And so fun to play with. Hope you enjoyed!

Sorry for being late. Everything was done but personal things have been in the way. I hope you can forgive me for not replying to your reviews this time around too. Hope to get back to that after this chapter. Next chapter is also already written, so that'll be up soon.


	14. Chapter 14

They made it out of the elevator, saying distracted goodbyes to the wizards and witches still inside it, and made their way towards the Apparition point. Dahlia's mouth was twisting every which way and it was only through her considerable will that she refrained from wringing her hands. Dumbledore hadn't spoken since they'd left the Minister's office, and she was fearful that she'd stepped too far over the line this time. She was here to help, but she wasn't here to take over all their lives just because she thought she knew better. Dahlia had the gift of hindsight, but she didn't have foreknowledge. Everything happening now was new to her, and she needed to remember that she wasn't the one in charge anymore, nor did she have the same political power to affect the same changes as she did in her time and world.

Passing the golden fountain on their way to the exit, Dahlia could take it no longer and skipped closer to Dumbledore's side.

"I'm sorry, Professor" she began, glancing up at him contritely, "but I just couldn't let that woman into the school. She's the one Fudge meant to make a teacher. She'll ruin DADA for everyone and put the students through hell."

Dumbledore bobbed his head and turned to look at her through his half-moon spectacles. "You're forgiven if, as you say, you had the students' best interests at heart," he conceded magnanimously. Dahlia felt a great weight lift from her shoulders and realised, for the first time in a decade, just how much this man's opinion meant to her. "This does solve a problem I was having," he suddenly chortled, his eyes lighting up again, "and rather nicely too." He turned to study her properly, but she didn't feel put on the spot, instead she felt warm. "Do you have much experience teaching children, Dahlia?"

Dahlia almost laughed at his question. She had experience drilling new Auror recruits, training them and beating into their heads that dark wizard catching was a serious business. Some witches and wizards came to her under the impression it was a glorified, exciting position, and they'd have the papers singing their praises in no time at all. Then she'd arrive at their training session, force feed them the reality of the job if she had to, and politely inform them that most of their work would be done in the office, and part of a team. Dahlia had no patience for rogue recruits only attempting to achieve fame, but she didn't think that was quite the answer Dumbledore was looking for.

"Er, I once led a rebellious study group in secret during my fifth year and taught them everything I knew," she admitted, smiling hopefully at the professor and feeling fond memories rise to the surface. "They all passed their practical exams with E's and O's. And I sometimes guest lecture at Hogwarts. Does that count?"

He smiled delightedly, his eyes twinkling down at her in barely repressed amusement. "I think it counts enough."

Dahlia smiled and nodded her head contentedly. "Good. Then yeah, I've got some experience. More than Lockhart ever did, anyway," she added, sniggering quietly to herself at the thought of that man. Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows lifted at her comment, and he twinkled at her yet again.

"That's not a very good endorsement, Dahlia, considering he had less than no experience. Give yourself some more credit," he jokingly chided, shoulders shaking lightly in repressed laughter.

Dahlia turned to him, flabbergasted. "You hired him!" she cried, amusement leaking into her shocked tone and shining eyes.

The old professor began to laugh heartily, and nodded his head. "Yes, one of my more playful ideas, I admit. Quite frankly, I just enjoyed the way Minerva's face would turn red whenever he'd come up in conversation. She did her Gryffindor colours proud," he sighed happily, wiping away a tear as his joy subsided.

Lifting a single mirthful brow at him, Dahlia murmured, "Sir, I had no idea you could be so cruel." No one bullied Minerva McGonagall; she'd eat them for breakfast. Dumbledore truly did have an endless source of courage to try her patience again and again. Or, more than likely, Dahlia admitted playfully to herself, Professor McGonagall just humoured the wizened headmaster so as not to hurt his feelings.

Dumbledore leaned slightly towards her and replied in a conspiratorial undertone. "We all have our vices, Miss Potter, and our outlets. And she did fail to gift me with any socks the Christmas before," he justified, affecting a mournful pout. "My poor old feet were rather chilly that winter."

Dahlia nodded like all this made complete sense. "Oh yes," she agreed easily, "cold feet are the worst. Did she get you any socks that Christmas, at least?"

Dumbledore shook his head and stood back up straight. "As a matter of fact, she did not," he exclaimed. "She got me signed copies of all Gilderoy's collected works."

Dahlia burst out laughing, startling the people around them. "I'm so sorry!"

Dumbledore furiously nodded his head. "So am I," he agreed, leading her out of the Ministry. "Gilderoy had already very thoughtfully given me a signed set himself," beamed the headmaster just before they disappeared.

The pair were popping into existence nearby Number Twelve moments later. Dumbledore appeared so quietly that it seemed he might have been there all along, while Dahlia appeared with a _crack_ that startled a nearby cat into hissing and scurrying away. Neither paid the creature any mind. Making their way towards the headquarters for the Order, stepping around the piles of rubbish in front of some of the Muggle households on the street, their conversation continued.

"So what did you do with the extra set, sir?" Dahlia asked, opening the rusty gate and letting the headmaster through before her. He thanked her and replied.

"I thought they'd make a rather fetching addition to the school's library, actually," he commented, taking his turn to open the front door and let his companion through first.

Dahlia was aghast. "You didn't," she hushed, just imagining the stir that would have caused with Hermione if she'd known (this was, of course, a third year Hermione; second year Hermione would have been first in line to borrow the books, even if she already owned a set of her own).

"I did," he countered, following her down the quiet hall, towards the narrow staircase that led down to the kitchen. "Madam Pince was at first disagreeable, but after a conversation over dinner with the former Professor Lockhart, she seemed much more willing to acquire his personally signed set." Dumbledore hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, a thoughtful expression on his face. Dahlia glanced back at him from where she'd begun to make a pot of tea in the otherwise empty room. "I never did see them again," he hummed, then brightened. "Madam Pince was in a much better mood for weeks, though, which was lovely. She never did seem to warm up to Gilderoy, though."

Dahlia suddenly had the insane idea that Madam Pince had desecrated a book as an outlet for her frustration towards Lockhart. Then she dismissed it, because that old librarian wouldn't ever do such a thing. Probably. Then again, Dahlia mused as she boiled the water, Gilderoy Lockhart was always a special case.

A sudden scream from upstairs had the both of them glancing at the ceiling. It was quiet in the kitchen for a moment as the headmaster and new professor looked at each other blankly.

"Should we check that?" Dahlia asked thoughtfully, taking the kettle off the stove.

Dumbledore shrugged. "We wouldn't want to spoil their fun, would we?"

She had the sudden impression that Dumbledore had applied this philosophy to her and many of her (often dangerous) adventures as a student. Then Sirius started yelling profanity through the many floors of Grimmauld Place, and Dahlia hesitated again.

"Why don't you satisfy your curiosity, Dahlia, hm?" Dumbledore suggested, strolling towards her and the kettle. "I'll finish up the tea."

"Good idea," she muttered, listening to the animagus begin ranting rather loudly about pure-blood rot. Flicking her wand in a practiced motion at Walburga Black's portrait as she passed it, silencing her screaming, Dahlia jogged up the staircase until she reached the first landing, following the shouting to the drawing room. Stepping inside, she immediately coughed and tried to wave away the thick dust that almost overwhelmed her. Dahlia waved her wand, opening the long windows facing the street, and allowed some fresh air into the room. She then took note of the ruckus and sighed, then coughed again on the dust she'd inhaled.

Mrs Weasley, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley children, all with white cloths protecting their noses and mouths from the dusty air like smart people, were watching Sirius in a face-off with Kreacher. The Head of House Black was almost spitting as he ripped a rusty dagger and a photo frame from the old elf's arms, ranting at the furious house-elf about his disgust for his family's pure-blood mania. Dahlia could understand his attitude towards it, but not his treatment of the house-elf that had taken care of her for the past ten years as well as Dobby would have, rest his soul (even if, technically, it wasn't this elf that had done it).

"Hey, enough!" she cried, marching forward. "What's going on? Dumbledore and I could hear you down in the kitchen," she griped, stopping in the middle of the two, glancing between them expectantly with her hands on her hips.

"What –?" Sirius gobbed, blinking in shock before he geared himself up to respond. "Just this stupid elf hoarding away the things we're trying to get rid of!"

"Kreacher will not let the disappointment to his former mistress throw away precious Black things, he will not," Kreacher muttered in his deep, hoarse voice, glaring up at an equally irate Sirius.

"They're not precious!" he shouted, waving around the dagger that, if Dahlia wasn't mistaken, had dried blood still on the hilt. "They're junk! Stupid, pure-blood junk, and I won't have it in this house while I'm your master!" To emphasise his point, Sirius threw the dagger across the room. While Kreacher jerked and gasped, it clanked and clattered as it bounced on the ground and hit the wall.

"Hey!" Dahlia cried, not for the disrespect shown to the object, but rather the old house-elf that had scuttled after the weapon and picked it up like it was precious. "Look," she said, turning back to Sirius, "I get that you hate this stuff, but don't take it out on him."

"On him? The elf?" Sirius tilted his head and looked her over incredulously.

"Yes, on _Kreacher_ ," she grumbled, emphasising his name to show the height of her opinion for him. "What's the harm in letting him keep a few things if you really must throw so much of it away?" As soon as she'd asked the question, though, Dahlia knew it was the wrong thing to say. Perhaps the years had dimmed the memories of her Sirius, and how much he loathed this place. They had many things in common, had both grown up in households that treated them poorly and showed them no love, but Dahlia had forgiven that, years ago. Sirius had not, and spending so long in Azkaban after losing the people and life he'd grown to love had only made him all the more aggrieved to return to the place that gave him no fond memories. To him, this house represented everything he hated, and everything that had taken the things he loved away. Somewhere in the last decade she'd spent making happy memories in these halls, Dahlia had forgotten that.

Sirius did not take her suggestion kindly.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews, everyone. They were great, and some full of inspiration! Honestly, some of you put into words exactly what I've been feeling about the future of this fic and I love that we're on the same page. I'm being lazy and haven't replied to you again, but I wanted to get this chapter up before I forgot again (I have been so disorganised the last two weeks, forgive me). Hope you liked the new chapter. Some Sirius/Dahlia interaction next, maybe some more Harry too. Guess we'll see :)


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